


As I Am

by Lobster_Ruu



Category: Berserk, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Casca - Freeform, Elder Scrolls - Freeform, F/M, GET READY TO RUMMMMBLE, Guts - Freeform, Skyrim - Freeform, berserk - Freeform, lez do dis shit, neato pateito
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9610559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lobster_Ruu/pseuds/Lobster_Ruu
Summary: He never intended his future to change ... all with the voice of a dragon and the orders of a Jarl. Guts was shoved out the door, with his new found power. The Thu'um they call it.He didn't know what he is or will be. The path is clouded but will venture this adventure with a clear mind. He stumbles upon someone who would be a better Dovahkiin than him and immediately feels impressed. Together they will kill Alduin.





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a huge work in progress. Especially the summary. As the story progresses I will change it xD

They were right to fear him. They were right to hate him. Only he himself didn’t have the right to do so. The unlucky fate of the Dragonborn filled everyone’s hearts with fear and disgust. A stranger to Skyrim and yet had the audacity to claim the title of Dovahkiin. Civilians were outraged. Not today though. Today they cheered the title given to him. 

Here he sat in discomfort. Alone in a large tavern filled with people. A tankard full of mead and the pleasant view of the innkeeper before him. She was fair. Imperial maybe. Dark auburn hair twisted into a braid that dangled on her shoulder. A rag on the other as she took out more bottles of mead to take around. Customers were thirsty this evening. 

“Ya need anotha one?” She asked the stocky male who sat at the bar. He gave a slight nod and took a deep draught to finish his third bottle. Already the buzz was coming into effect. The room felt brighter and homier. “This one’s on me. Lemme know if ya need anythin else.” Her thick accent made him feel drowsy for some reason. The Dragonborn nodded as he opened his drink. 

The people who occupied the tavern were common goers in the Bannered Mare. Mainly farmers and workers who lived in the city. Some of them had come from their steads outside of Whiterun. Must be a day to celebrate. Oh of course. A dragon was killed but a league from their city. All due to the newcomer’s arrival. 

Jarl Balgruuf had ordered him to help with the assistance of dismantling the dragon’s rampage, before it attacked Whiterun. He agreed with some hesitation. 

The male took another deep sip of his mead. Eyes drooping shut as he twirled the glass in his fingers. His memory was bright and vivid. There he stood next to a tower aflame. The dragon, roaring into the sky as it released large veils of fire. His hands gripping the pommel of his sword in fear. All of a sudden it landed with dirt and earth flinging into the air. It stood before him in an awed majesty. Scales of a dusted green mingling with hints of gold near its belly. This one was old. He could tell by the aged scales by it’s face. An odd occurrence hindered his movements. Halting his sword he felt pity and did not want to kill such a beautiful creature. A drawing feeling, filled his chest as he began to walk towards it. 

The dragon, however, had other ideas. Fear of humans from years of battle creeped into its mind. It did not want peace. Nor would it ever. Jaws widened as it roared a threat to the fellow man below him. 

Peace was gone. The human raised its sword and uttered a large cry as it striked. The blade meeting the creature’s mouth, slicing through scale and muscle. A wounded cry filled the air as it whirled its face away from the impact. The male’s sword still lunged into its mouth. It was then, the Whiterun guards began to attack. With the dragon unable to use it’s most dangerous weapon, it was as vulnerable as a mudcrab. 

The dragon gave one last whip of its neck to try and send its opponent flying. It succeeded but not in a positive fashion. With a quick slide, the male landed, deftly, on his legs. Bracing for the next attack as he positioned his blade horizontal. Eyes clenched tightly as he waited for the strong brace of it’s jaws. None came. Instead he found the dragon aflame. It’s skin on fire? The male retracted his steps. Had someone set it aflame? Why was it doing this? 

A sharp pain filled his chest as his vision began to wrap. Tendrils of pale fire wrapped his body, circling his chest and filling his lungs with a heavy weight. An awakening. 

It was then everyone began to call him Dovahkiin. The Last Dragonborn. After his encounter with Jarl Balgruuf he was anointed the title Thane. Either for him to stay on good terms or because of his honor, he did not know. The Jarl was confusing him. Already his mind was filling with odd behaviors, comprehending anything was a struggle. 

Leaving the Jarl’s side, he left without a word. His stomach clenched with unease. A hand hovered over his belly as he left Dragonsreach. A woman approached him, shortly after leaving the keep. 

“Hello my Thane.” She said quietly. No emotion filled her tone. A hard warrior she was and nor did he care about her at the moment. “I was ordered to-” She began but was quickly cut off by a raise of his hand. 

“Please. I need a bed and food. I’ll come find you in the morning.” The male’s voice wavered as his stomach burned. He left her in a flourish as he rushed to the main part of Whiterun. The Bannered Mare looked inviting as the sun began to set. Maybe this heavy feeling would leave him once he had some food down his throat. 

Here he sat. Quiet and examining the townsfolk. It seemed his intuition was right. As soon as he tasted the warm bread and the thick smell of mead, his stomach no longer churned with the ancient magic. It seemed all of Whiterun had heard the news of the Dovahkiin, returning once more to Tamriel. Some even speculated that it was Tiber Septim, coming alive once more, to reconquer the Imperial City. 

“I’m sorry I didna catch ya name?” The Innkeeper piped in as she smiled. 

The male was slow to reply. Unaccustomed to this much treatment in one day. Hulda, the Innkeeper was kind enough to give him free food and a bed for the night. As Thane … or maybe she was generally being nice to him. His reply was gruff but assured, “Guts.” 

Her eyebrows rose as she gave a surprised whistle. “Whata peculiar name ya got there? Were yer parents necromancers or somethin?” 

Guts gave out a drunken laugh as color rose to his cheeks. “Not that I know of.” 

Hulda gave him a clap on the back as she chuckled. “It’s better that we don’t know.” With one last look, she gave him a wink and began her rounds once more around the tavern. Looking for anyone who needed more mead. 

Guts took one last look around the tavern before he stumbled upstairs to his bed. It wasn’t all that private, but drunk enough, he didn’t mind. It felt good to be in company with others once more. Too long had he wandered the roads of Cyrodiil and High Rock to only find himself crossing the Jerral Mountains. In search of what? Not even he knew. 

Now it seemed he found his purpose. The awakening of Skyrim. He would destroy these dragons and bring peace once more upon Tamriel. That seemed loyal enough. Maybe this whole Dragon thing wasn’t such a bad idea. 

Guts took the liberty of taking his armor off. He smelled awful fierce from that day’s battle. Maybe a bath before going to bed was a good idea. He searched the nearby wardrobe for a robe to go ask Hulda for some hot water. He didn’t want to stress her out since tonight was so busy. 

Going back downstairs, he carefully held onto the bannister and found Hulda enjoying a tankard as well. 

“Couldna sleep?” 

“I smell like dragon piss…” Guts’s voice trailed off with some hesitation. 

Hulda giggled. “I’ll get some hot water goin fer ya. Ya owe me Mista Thane. Chop me some firewood tomorra.” 

“Why of course. I’ll even wash your stockings!” 

That got the Innkeeper riled up. Her laughter was cheery as she excused herself. “Water will be reedy for ya in a few. I’ll come get ya when it’s done.” 

“Thank you, Hulda.” Guts gave an appreciative nod as he wandered back up to his room. What to do while he waited. He thought for a bit as he watched the crowd gathering in the tavern below. Everyone began to dance as the bard played a joyful tune. Guts didn’t recognize it. He didn’t mind as he listened to the people hum along. 

He liked this place. More than he realized. Whiterun was full of simple minded people, just like him. Although there were more wealthy clansmen and some feuding people as well. Typical Nordsman city. Guts was a Nord. Or so he thought. He didn’t know what he was, since his parents were killed years ago in a bandit raid. He felt the calling of the hearty menfolk. Saying he was a Nord made sense and he stuck too it. 

The calling of the North filled his blood as the chanting in the tavern below, erupted into cry. Voices shook the walls as the song carried out its final tune. That was the moment, the sellsword felt complete. The true calling of his nature. For the good of his homeland. He would defeat the darkness and bring back the light. 

“Ya bath is a ready.” Hulda pronounced as she poked her head through the door. What she saw was something she didn’t see very often in menfolk. The tall male was silent. Neck craned high as amber orbs blazed with some unknown fire. Fists gathered with heated energy. Whether the fellow was burning with anger or perhaps with bravery, she could not tell as it suddenly went away. The drunken fellow gave her a slight nod as his hands went limp. It was then the Innkeeper knew to stay out of the way of this fellow warrior. She would let him go. Fear was rising in her stomach as she walked down the stairway, back to the warm hearth. The look of the last dragonborn filling her with a chilling emotion. 

 

Guts sidled his way to the bath were Hulda had decided to give him some privacy. Along the way, people gave the warrior slaps on his back and some a few more bottles of ale to drink. Some of the few drunk men tried to follow Guts as they wanted to celebrate his victory. Hulda waved them off with a whisk of her towel. “GET OFF YA! The man needs his rest. Leave him be till morn. Now, WHO NEEDS MORE ALE?!” Her voice sailed over the tiny enclosure, ricocheting against the roof. The reply was a great boom of approval. 

Then it all went quiet as Guts closed the door behind him. The fire crackled next to a large hearth. There piled high, roasts and meats, ready to be served. Horker meat. His favorite. Walking away from the heavenly aromas left him feeling hungry once more. His bare feet padded on the cold stone tiles until he found a back storage room. There Hulda had stacked boxes and sacks to make room for an overly large wooden tub, steaming high with bubbling water. A bar of soap lay nearby and a fresh towel. 

He would need to at least chop 5 trees to repay the wonderful Innkeeper with her hospitality. Disrobing once more, he stepped into the tub and let out a harsh hiss as the hot water burned his skin. Dirt and blood was leaving his skin as soon as he submerged. Hot water bubbling in a cheery warmth. There he sat, letting the water wash away all the stains. 

The world was quiet as nothing disturbed his thoughts. He was alone and quite content with himself. Craning his neck, he felt the cold air greet his skin. Biting into his flesh, he flinched slightly. Fingers rose through the water to rub against his face. Caressing his cheekbones, forehead, and nose. Rubbing the grime away from his skin. Then he stopped his movements and waited for the water to still. Steam swirled around the tub as the reflection became clear. There he stooped in an awed fashion. He looked quite pale for just being drowned in hot steam. A thick jawline and high curved cheekbones reflected the faint candlelight. 

Then he felt it. Stubble. Something he usually didn’t have to worry about. Prickly hairs dotted his cheeks. He gave a huffed sigh and sank his head back below the quiet surface of the water. 

Fus

He felt his lips form a strange word that stirred in his chest. Then a strange power tickled his throat. That one word sent all the air from his lungs, out and away in a small gust. He had heard of this before. A Thu’um. Apparently this is what Ulfric used to kill High King Toryg. All make-believe. He could sense it. This power was strange… yet… he didn’t know what to do. Not using this power would be all for naught if he didn’t know how to use it. Maybe the Jarl would have more answers. He would head there in the morn, to try and figure out who he was. 

The bath water was slowly becoming colder, the longer he sat. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet anyways. Rubbing his soaked scalp, he exited the tub and dried off his now clean skin. The horrible stench had left. Tugging on his new pair of clothes, he felt his limbs tingle with satisfaction. Sleepiness now taking its course as he exited the room. Hulda stood at the bar, the tavern quiet. Her busy night was well earned. A big pile of gold sat at the bar, she counted her contents and tucked her earnings in a large sack. 

“No thanks to ya. I just earned about a month’s wages just from tonight!” Her lips formed a gentle smile as she chuckled. 

The male gave her a thoughtful nod as a blush formed on his cheeks. “Hulda… I had some questions you might answer.” Guts took the liberty to sit at the bar once more. His eyes flicking to and fro as he examined the Innkeeper. 

“Go right ahead.” 

“What did the the people know about the Dragonborns exactly?” 

A great sigh filled her lungs as she spread her arms on the counter. Palms grasping the edge of the bar with uncertainty. “Not many people talk about them. They’re mainly stories told to children at night.” She eyed Guts and noticed his eyes locked onto hers. He generally was curious. Licking her lips she continued on, “High atop that tall mountain sits a fortress. Locked away, hiding from the world are the menfolk called the Greybeards. I’ve heard of people walking up that mountain to try and talk to them. They neva let anyone in. The Pilgrimage of the 7,000 steps. If they know anythin about yer power, they would know.” 

“The Greybeards…” Guts replied as he mumbled the name once more. 

“Is this yer destiny? Do ya really think yer the Dovahkiin?” 

“Not really but I’m ready to find out. Tamriel needs someone like me. The world is falling apart and I’m ready to bring it back together.” 

Hulda gave the male an affectionate smile. That look she saw a few hours ago wasn’t one to be afraid of. This was the hero Skyrim needed. “May the Nine watch over ya on yer journey good sire.” 

Guts stood up. A hand placed over his chest as he titled his neck downwards. An action he knew he meant with every feeling. Without another word, he left Hulda’s presence, feeling rejuvenated and ready to conquer the world. The Innkeeper looked on as Guts disappeared behind a doorway. Feeling honored, she decided to count her earnings tomorrow. The doors that lead to the inn were closed as she locked up for the night. Sleep was definitely needed this time.


	2. The Road Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too long for a chapter? I think not! I spent a lot of timing looking over the map to figure out what direction he should take. I don't know if Guts is sort of the person who blazes a trail or not but I'm pretty sure he just takes the road.

The morning was peaceful as Guts prepared for another visit with the Jarl. This time he would ask the questions. Whatever happened yesterday, still stirred inside him. Questions that needed answering. There were loud footsteps echoing on the floor below him, heavy, and made of metal. It seemed they were pacing. Guts slipped into his armor and prepared for the worst. His thick iron sword at the ready if anyone tried to get in his way. Walking slowly down to the tavern below he was met with a familiar face. One he had glanced at before. Shaven head and a thick matted beard towered above him. A heavily built Nord stared right at him. 

Hrongar. Balgruuf’s brother it seemed. Why was he here? The tall male met eyes with the Dovahkiin and gave a small nod. “I was hoping to find you here. My brother sent me to fetch you myself.” He was Nord but his accent was more firm and careful. He could understand him much better. 

“Lead on.” Guts replied. His stomach growling at the thought of missing breakfast. If Balgruuf sent his own brethren, then matters were definitely serious. Before they left the tavern, he saw Hulda watch him leave. Someday he would come back. Hrongar lead him through the city, the air quite familiar as the morning began to hum with activity. 

“It’s strange.” Hrongar mumbled as his feet padded against the pavement. “I feel this strange feeling emanating from you. A powerful sensation.” 

“I just want to know more about who I am.” Guts replied. Fists bunched together as the leather bit into his skin. 

“My brother can answer as much as I can however …” He stopped himself by biting his lip. Their footsteps paused on the steps towards Dragonsreach. “Nevermind. I should let Balgruuf tell you.” 

Guts felt more and more curious, the closer they got to the large structure. He felt nervous. Just like he had the first time he arrived. The guards seemed less than friendly to a stranger in their city but obliged to lead him towards the Jarl. He had information on the dragon attack in Helgen. Of course that was valuable information. 

The doors opened and Hrongar lead him towards the throne where Jarl Balgruuf sat. It seemed his Housecarl stayed where she as the entire time. Guts paused his steps to acknowledge her presence. “I’m sorry for throwing you under the wagon last night.” 

“No problem. You didn’t look too well.” She paused a moment as she looked up at the strange male before her. He still didn’t look well. “I wish to travel with you until I can no longer raise my sword.” Eyebrows furrowed in seriousness as she lifted her neck. It was blunt to say but she had to get her meaning across. 

Guts took it well as he slowly nodded. “Sure. Just… don’t stand in my way.” He gave her a hard pat on the back and continued towards the Jarl’s destination. 

It looked like the pristine leader hadn’t moved from his wooden seat at all. Thick blonde hair clouded his face as it was twisted into an elegant braid. A gold circlet crowned his forehead. Eyes of piercing blue gazed upon Guts as he stood from his chair. 

“Welcome back. Please follow me.” The Jarl wasn’t for pleasantries as he wanted to get right into the business. Lydia trailed behind him, curious as to what was going to happen next. The Jarl lead him to the upper room where maps scattered tables. He paused a moment as he spread open a map. “I know you have questions. I would in your shoes as well. However there is a pressing matter. We received a message from Riften of a fellow Elder Dragon camped nearby the Hold.” 

Guts felt his throat constrict. Of course. An assignment that would further delay the journey to High Hrothgar. He sighed heavily as his eyes met with the map below. 

“The Jarl has directly asked me to send more men to aid her. However I think I can send you.” The Jarl pursed his lips as his eyes met Guts. All he saw was disgust. “Riften is about a five day’s ride and Ivarstead is merely 2 days away from Riften. However I would like to point out that the world is being overrun by dragons and you are the only one who can stop them. Every person in Skyrim needs you. Time will tell you what your powers are but now is not the time. Riften needs aid, they need you.” 

Guts grabbed the map and gave a firm nod. “Very well. I will do as you ask.” 

The Jarl gave a bright grin as he reached behind him and pulled out a large sack of coins. “Take this. For everything. It’s the least I can do.” 

The sellsword carefully took the gold. Hesitating slightly. Usually when gold was provided he didn’t hesitate. This however was a different case. Guts picked up the gold and stuck it in his pack. He didn’t say another word to the Jarl as he walked out of Dragonsreach. Lydia hot on his heels. Making sure he wasn’t going to leave her somewhere. 

“I have enough gold to buy a horse.” She stated as they left Whiterun. Guts ignored her as he sniffed the air loudly. “We are taking a horse right?” The silence was definitely starting to annoy the Housecarl. Some Thane this hotshot turned out to be. They walked right on by the stables. The once pleasant company was now filling with tension. Lydia dared not say a word in case she threw a tantrum. 

As they passed a brewery she finally had it. “Did you not realize what we have to do? Riften is probably in flames and all because of you being a slow ass!” Her face tingled with annoyance as she tried to calm her nerves. Guts stopped his procession as he turned to examine the female. She had a point but he however wasn’t going to be rushed. He would argue but right now wasn’t the best of times. He now felt that the idea of leaving her was a better beginning. 

He eyed her with a disturbing look crossing his features. He chuckled as he fixed the straps on his sheath, tightening them sharply. “If you think you’re so high and mighty, go back and lap at the Jarl’s feet. I don’t need another milk drinker complaining.” His eyes focused on hers. A fierce gaze. Tired as he was, it was probably a good thing he left her behind. “I’m afraid of horses by the way.” He sneered as he turned away from his Housecarl. “See ya.” He spun on his heels and turned his neck to the tall mountain in the distance. The noonday sun made the snow capped peak blind him for a few seconds. 

A giddiness filled his chest as the fresh air met his lungs. Bursting temperatures made him shiver with some unknown feeling. This time he wasn’t tied down by a large foreboding dragon and orders by some oblivious leader. He was free to do as he willed. A man with his thoughts and a sword strapped to his back. Where would he go? Even as he continued to walk, he felt the burning eyes of Lydia, boring into his back. He ignored that feeling as his mind went elsewhere. 

Skyrim had definitely changed. A country devastated by an ongoing war. Peace was non existent in such a wild country. Sheltered by an ocean to the north and a mountain peak to the south. Cradled in a picturesque scene. What wars had been fought on this strange countryside, happened many years ago. Now trees were burned, villages pillaged, and bodies filled all the nine Holds. Running refugees looking for a safe haven. 

His mind clouded with darkness. He was alone with his thoughts. Where darkness crept into his actions. Running a hand through his hair, his mind calmed with the soothing action. He pulled out the map he took from the Jarl and examined it closely. Eyes outlining the faint text scribbled on the paper. Something about a stone and mainly some caves that outlined the mountain. He tried to pinpoint the exact location of the Greybeard's location. The Throat of the World, bolded in dark writing. An important landmark to the Jarl it seemed. He soon hoped it would be to him as well. 

Averting his gaze, he looked past the mountain. Somewhere that’s where he was supposed to go. Yet he was drawn to the future on the mountain. Saving a city was one thing but figuring out more about his powers seemed more helpful. 

Lydia’s words burned in his mind. He scowled and once again set foot on the path. Even though his so called Housecarl was nowhere in sight, he felt that she hadn’t really left him. “Fine. Riften here I come.” He mumbled to himself as he adjusted the strap on his sword. And now we’re off. He thought as his feet moved, faster and faster. The wind rising around him as his feet pounded on the cobblestone road. The feeling once again filled his lungs as the idea of the road ahead filled him with excitement. What sort of creatures would he stumbleupon? He didn’t care as the brisk air bit against his exposed flesh. 

A few miles went by and Whiterun was slowly disappearing behind him. Someday he would return. Far off in the distance he saw a hill overlooking the White River. A strange statue sat on the very edge. He had seen one not to far away from his escape from Helgen. Curiosity once more puzzled his mind as he marched up the slight incline. A stone with a strange marking engraved on its surface. An eye of some sort. The three stones he saw were of a Warrior, Mage, and Thief. Strange descriptions of someone he didn’t care about at the moment. 

“And what are you supposed to be.” He hummed with an air of interest, peaking into a higher tone. He reached out a hand, hesitant. The stone was cold to the touch. Almost familiar but it burned against his skin. He could not tell whether it burned with fire or ice. It was the same feeling he felt on those oddly placed stones a few weeks ago. This one however encouraged him to reach deeper inside his mind. 

Guts closed his eyes as he traced embers of his understanding to stumble upon a vision. His blade in the foe of another, fallen in past combat. A ruthless killer that lay in peaceful quiet. Then he felt it shudder as a strange power escaped his palm … and the corpse … blinked. Alive once more he could feel air filling their lungs. The power contained within this stone granted him the darkest of arts that no sorcerer would ever want. Necromancy. 

His palm retreated from the stone as he panted. Eyelids flicked open as he looked wildly about. A dark power. One he could not control. Hissing in disgust, he left the stone. Sitting… waiting for it’s next companion to harness its power. 

His eyes picked out its next target. The next victim to seduce him into something he did not desire. Two towers held together, suspended over the fast flowing river. High up and filled with looming figures. Enemies of some sort. Guts squinted into the distance as he tried to pick up the distant bodies. “I guess I’ll find out for myself. At least it’s not a bloody ghost stone.” As he got closer to the looming towers, he felt a foreboding sense fill the air. Eyes of blood thirsty longing. 

“Oi!” A sharp voice echoed as he neared the base of the closest tower. A tall female glowered a brief snarl before she sauntered over to the male. Bandits. He should’ve known. The female bore a nasty scar over her left eye and what looked like fox pelts covering most of her form. Poachers and lawless killers. “200 hundred gold and we let ya pass.” 

Guts paused for a moment as he digested the words the stranger said to him. A bandit actually willing to talk before killing? He chuckled as he reached up to grab the pommel of his sword. “Only 200 gold?” Guts scoffed as he quickly drew his large greatsword and let it sit on top of his shoulder. Absent minded to the bandits that hovered nearby. “No no you’re doing it all wrong. See you gotta do it like this…”

His blade soared through the air and sunk into the bandit’s skull. “You don’t negotiate.” He spat as he withdrew his blade. The body falling limp to the ground as blood poured out of the gash. His amber orbs flicked as he heard commotion coming from the tower. Maybe he could try out his power here? His blade hovered near the ground as he prepared his voice to command the word. 

His throat tingled as his lungs began to fill with a bright energy. He thought long and hard about the word. The singular word that changed his whole life. The only one he needed to know. Eyes flickered close as he imagined it, burning against his eyelids. 

“YA BLOODY BASTARD!” A bandit shouted in front of Guts. “YOU’LL PAY!” 

His feet planted in the ground, steading his lower body for the impact of his shout. The word burning against his tongue as he opened his eyes. 

“FUS!” 

A great gust of air escaped his mouth and sent the young bandit a strong warning. The force of the blow had only stopped him from pursuing. Then the fear set in. A scream filled the air as the bandit retreated back to his encampment. Now there was more shouting, echoing against the canyon. Rallying together. Guts narrowed his eyes as he focused on the tower now. He would be challenged in an enclosed Nord like building. Tight space was inevitable so using his sword was out of the question. At least until he escaped close contact. 

He sheathed his sword and instead, drew out a long thin dagger. A close combat weapon. It felt light. A feeling he wasn’t used too. He knew injury was out of the question. Something would cut him. But maybe I have time to run. That thought alone scared him. Bandits this close to Whiterun could attack anyone. They did to him. Narrowing his eyes, he climbed the stairs until he reached the opening. He could hear them scrambling. Their words mumbling together into a deep hum. They were afraid. 

He didn’t blame them. Time had changed his outlook on people like them. He showed no mercy. Sunlight was slowly fading away. Nightfall was coming. He would have to end this quickly before darkness fell. No enemies came to attack him in that cramped hallway. At least he wouldn’t have to use his dagger. He hid his dagger and drew out his greatsword. The cold steel seemed happy to be out of its sheath. 

He gave a subtle nod to himself as he sprinted. Feet pounded on the oak planking that lead up to the bridge area. He heard them now. Shouting in tones of surprisement as they readied their arrows. He ran straight towards them. Unaware of the damage being dealt to him. Now that he had some practice with his Thu’um he knew that it was useless. Throwing people off and away. Unless there was a way to make it stronger? He threw that notion aside as he instead trusted the blade. Its edge meeting the muscle of an bare neck, a head flew off and sailed into the river below. 

An arrow to his chest sent him reeling as anger coursed its way through his chest. Burning a trail of fire. Each swing of his sword sent a body flying over the bridge. Each one sent a glorious feeling through his chest. Adrenaline pumping into his head that he no longer felt the arrow that pierced his chest. 

Minutes passed. He stood on the other side of the bridge. Blood staining his armor and sword. Valtheim Towers now a desolate and quiet area. Adrenaline now subsided and the pain came back. A deep throbbing. It seemed the arrow wasn’t as deep as he thought, he just had to find a way to get it out. He could rest here for the night but already he felt sick looking at all of the bodies. Strewn over the old bridge like dolls. Favoring his right shoulder, he focused on getting out. 

Maybe he should’ve had Lydia with him after all. Regret filled his mind but he was quick to remove them. He had to focus on the task at hand. What happened before, no longer mattered. He was alone in this journey. He needed to be alone. 

Usually an arrow wound would pain him terribly but this case was different. The blood that dripped down his chest was hot. A simmering hot. It must’ve been the dragon soul he absorbed. His first kill. Pain was slowly going away. Mumbling with curiosity he dashed down the road in search of a safe haven, away from any rogue bandits. 

Shadows lengthened as the road twisted around the bend. The mountain now shading the road in a deep shadow. He stopped and analyzed the pathway ahead. He couldn’t seem to do it. To step into the shadow into some unknown realm. Clenching his teeth together, he kept on. His eyes took some adjusting to the darkness. The one thing that kept him on the true path, was the White River next to him. The pleasant sounds of water breaking against rock calmed his tense mind. Putting him at ease to trust what he first came to see in Skyrim. A hesitant hand lay bare, ready to grasp the cold metal of his sword. That he could trust more than anything. 

He needed to find shelter soon. Examining the wound on his shoulder was top priority. It didn’t hurt. Strange. He wouldn’t take the arrow out until he for sure knew what was going on. The wind picked up, bringing a slight chill in the air. A howling floating through the trees. He walked on. Not looking behind him as the path winded around the mountain, going down. 

“I suppose I should just follow the current.” He mumbled to himself. A road sign appeared after a few short minutes of walking. Worn letters pointed the right way. Whiterun behind him and the faded words of Riften pointed Eastwards. “I should’ve taken a horse.” He grumbled as he fixed his scabbard once more. His shoulder was getting sore, keeping the arrow in for too long. He needed to stop and rest. He took a look at the map and found a small building next to the river. Unnamed, that was a good sign, he hoped. 

He continued his way down the road when he spotted it through a thick veil of bushes. A stone tower built next to the rocky outcrop. The earth seemed to swallow some of it up, concealing it with its own. No lights filled the tower, abandoned and quiet. There was always something. The river proved quite shallow next to the remaining bits of the tower. His feet waded across its waters to finally reach a spot to rest. “I wonder what lived here? A nobleman… puzzling indeed. Hopefully it won’t collapse on me while I’m resting…” He shook that thought out of his head as he opened the door. Instantly feeling the temperature drop. His feet settled on the dusty floor.


End file.
